


The Blood in your Hair

by margaerytyrell



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 03:17:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margaerytyrell/pseuds/margaerytyrell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margaery Tyrell lost Sansa Stark to the Lannisters, but the Stark girl is more than a key or a claim, and in the end, it's the one who can make the most unhappy girl in King's Landing smile that wins her heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blood in your Hair

The music is pleasant enough, but there’s something to King’s Landing tunes that hangs heavy in the air with a crushing sense of sobriety. Each chord sings happiness with the slices of death sliding beneath. It’s set her on edge since coming here, but she’s almost accustomed to it by now.  
  
Still, she expected something more… _joyous for a wedding._  
  
“We’ve lost the North,” Olenna sighs, adjusting her gowns. Margaery nods slowly, soaking in the scenery. Golden banners drenched in blood red adorned with lions, but smattered here and there are golden roses. “But we’ve got King’s Landing completely.”  
  
It’s a start.  
  
The music, she thinks, is befitting, really. It’s not a happy occasion for anyone present. She’s seen the girl wandering the halls of the keep with somber eyes. No extensions of comfort will help her now, but Margaery knows she can try. There is still a need for Sansa Stark and the Lannisters have gone about it all wrong. They have married her, but they have not pleased her.  
  
If the Young Wolf to the North storms the walls of King’s Landing, however unlikely, he will ask Sansa Stark to remember her friends from this place when he’s done beheading the king. Margaery’s eyes are cool and measured when she watches her betrothed take his place atop the staircase. Robb Stark is almost guaranteed to lose his life in this war, but if he lives, he won’t be likely to spare the woman at the bedside of the king.  
  
Unless, of course, his sister sings her praises.  
  
“Do we know of any long lost Stark cousins?” Loras quips. “Anymore Neds or Eds or whoever?”  
  
Olenna shakes her head and pats him on the back. Margaery says nothing. Sansa Stark is the key to the North, but she’s more, too. She’s their beacon and, adorned in gold and red, she’s about to go out. It would have been far easier to place her in Highgarden. Her smiles shine brighter than her tears and, while the Lannisters move to smother her in her wedding veil, the Tyrells could have taught her how to truly shine.  
  
It wasn’t her claim she wanted, Margaery thinks to herself. It was her alliance.  
  
The crowd hushes when Sansa makes her appearance, a silhouette beside the boy she was formerly betrothed to. Oh, her heart aches when she thinks of poor Sansa Stark, sent in to deal with such a nasty little lion without her armor on. Sansa has armor now, but it merely covers her wounds instead of preventing them.  
  
She can teach the Stark girl a thing or two about how to wear pretty silk dresses so that they can never see your armor. She has many years to befriend the girl. _No_ , she thinks, she already has.  
  
The somber music plays on as Sansa and Joffrey begin to walk. Sansa’s eyes are fixed on an untraceable point in the distance, beyond her lion groom and beyond the Sept of Baelor. She looks at Winterfell, maybe. It’s hard to say with the tears staining the pretty greens of her eyes.  
  
And Sansa spares her a look that is crushing and cutting all at once. It pleads for Willas and flowers and pretty silk dresses and lemon cakes. It is all Margaery can do to give her a comforting smile that hopefully says _‘You still have me.’_  
  
And with that, in a few moments, she becomes Sansa Lannister and Olenna lets out a heavy sigh. Margaery frowns.  
  
She isn’t sure what she expected.  
  
The Queen of Thorns rattles off on the new setup of their family tree while Margaery traces over the room delicately in silence. Joffrey speaks to Sansa and it’s painful but the girl has donned her armor since putting on her gown and, while it’s mostly ineffective, she deflects a little. She’ll need to.  
  
The prospect of her own wedding night sours the wine on her tongue.  
  
It’s when Joffrey begins crying for a bedding ceremony that she flinches, just slightly. Too much for comfort. Margaery forces herself to relax in her chair as the scene unfolds. She needs Joffrey on her side for her own sake, but Sansa is visibly shaken.  
  
The little wolf girl doesn’t fit well in her new skin. She's as much a lion as Joffrey’s a stag.  
  
“Then you’ll be fucking your bride with a wooden cock,” the groom hisses from beneath the sheen of wine on his breath.  
  
How unfortunate, she thinks while biting back a smile. However, she’s tried things more peculiar. Her lips twist into a perplexed frown. She’s not a fan of the idea of cock in general. Rather brutish things. She prays briefly that Sansa has the bravery to face one herself.  
  
They depart and Margaery watches them go, brown locks twisted at her arms.  
  
She supposes even if Sansa Stark is useless to her family, no girl should be left in a Lion’s Den without armor, and Sansa looks better in green and gold and silk dresses with lemon cakes instead of wine. With sunshine in her eyes instead of tears.  
  
With a woman’s fingers in her hair instead of a man’s around her waist.


End file.
